


Going through the motions, Going through us

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Complete, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, F/M, M/M, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock always dreamed that John would wait for him, that without him life would cease to have meaning.<br/>Its been two years since John Watson's entire world came crashing down with a literal and metaphorical force and he's finally ready to move on but a face from the past is calling him back to a love story that ended before it began.<br/>//fluff//happy ending//</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Twenty one days, 30240 minutes since he'd last laid eyes on John Watson._ Not that he'd been keeping track.

After being apart for every agonizing minute for two years, he couldn't wait another second to reunite.

For two years, his rugged face had filled Sherlock's dreams, no matter how hard he tried to banish it from his mind. He tried to forget every single memory that John Watson had given him, every hint of stifled laughter over breakfast, every sly grin and angry line pressed into his lips.

He'd always planned on coming back and assumed John would wait for him but one call from Mycroft had changed everything. The mission was over, he could go home now but he'd been warned that it was best to hide every ounce of sentiment in his body because it _had_ been two years after all. Anyone could've deduced in a matter of seconds what that meant. He'd moved on, found somebody who deserved every ounce of love and devotion in him. When John Watson loved, he loved deeply and without restraint. No one knew this better than Sherlock, he'd been the willing recipient of that love for a handful of glorious years...before it all came tumbling down.

It was in this state of mind that he found himself in Mycroft Holmes office as a barber carefully shaved his face, making him look more like the man that had disappeared from the face of the earth two years prior. 

_"He's moved on, Sherlock. He's a life now, brother mine",_ Mycroft said to his baby brother and tried not to let the tension in his voice give too much away. After all that Sherlock had been through, he knew his brother couldn't come out of this one with his heart intact. The man could take down mercenaries with one hand tied behind his back, could deduce his way out of a rough patch but this, a matter of the heart, he couldn't handle with grace and finesse.

 _"Ridiculous",_ Sherlock replied, tossing aside the notion that John might actually have a life outside of himself. This was John Watson they were talking about, John who only ever trusted Sherlock Holmes, John who craved danger like a dying man craves oxygen in his lungs. Impossible.

With a sigh, Mycroft chose not to further push the matter. His brother had only just returned from the brink of death and the last thing he wanted was to push him straight into the abyss. He signaled for Anthea to bring Sherlock's beloved coat, the only remaining piece of a former life that he still owned.

 _"How does this shirt look?"_ , Sherlock asked even as he slid his arms into his coat. Mycroft's opinion wouldn't change his attire but he needed to fill the awkward silence that stretched between them, needed to ignore the knot in his stomach that said _he's always right and you know it_.

Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing. What was there to say? He stepped forward and opened the door, allowing his brother to exit the musty office. This one was going to hurt Sherlock and for once, he couldn't fix it.

Sherlock eagerly pushed through the double doors and into the dimly lit restaurant. It wasn't like John to dine at such a place, John was anything but fancy. John was luke warm tea and biscuits for dinner, he was mum and pop diners and plaid shirts. Searching the dinner crowd, his eyes set upon John, only a few tables away. He'd imagined this moment and replayed it in his head what felt like a million times since he'd left, finding John again. He sat alone at a table set for two and aside from an unsightly mustache above his lip he looked the same, albeit fatigued.

Suddenly he couldn't breathe. His heart pounded in his chest painfully and he had to gather himself...deep breaths in and out, in and out. He'd never felt so exposed in his life and it was terrifying. Right in front of him was everything he'd ever wanted, could ever ask out of life yet his feet were refusing to cooperate. He willed them to move, one step at a time until he was closer. Only then did he realize he wasn't prepared at all, he needed a disguise. He dashed from table to table, gathering glasses, a bow tie and eye liner. This would be perfect. What better way to reunite than to begin with laughter?

 _Can I ’elp you with anything, sir?_ he purred and leaned closer to John. He smelled amazing and Sherlock was pleased to find that he'd remembered John's scent accurately for two years. Honey, earl gray tea and a hint of spice.

_ Hi, yeah. I’m looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one.  _ John replied, without breaking his eyes away from the menu. Champagne? John was never one for such fancy alcohol. Wine? Sure but never this. His stomach lurched a bit and felt like it was made of lead. He hoped with everything in him that he wasn't too late.  


_ Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages,  _ Sherlock said as he scanned a pen over the wine list. Had John already forgotten the sound of his voice? The phoney French accent wasn't _that_ good. 

_ Er, it’s not really my area. What do you suggest?  _ John inquired as he squinted at the menu. So he hadn't changed that much at least, thought Sherlock. He never could tell the difference between a fruity wine and a bitter one simply by smell or name.  


_ Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you’d like my personal recommendation... _ he was growing frustrated now. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. For godsake John, look at me! he wanted to scream. 

_ Mm-hmm. _ John mumbled, hoping the waiter knew his options well. Bitter champagne could throw the entire night off. 

_ ... this last one on the list is a favourite of mine,  _ Sherlock said as he leaned in closer and pointed at a certain vintage. John was intoxicating, he nearly ruined his own accent at least twice by being in the same vicinity of him.   


_ It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past.  _ He removed his glasses with pizzazz and just a touch of drama queen then waited but nothing happened. 

_Great. I’ll have that one, please,_ John mutters as he finished off his red wine. One aspect of this proposal underway at least, he could slightly breathe easier.  

_ It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!  _ Sherlock says, gleefully as John grimaces at his wine. Bitter, naturally.   


_ Well, er, surprise me. _ John is irritated by now and wishes the chatty waiter would go on his way.

_Certainly endeavouring to, sir._ Sherlock mumbles under his breath as he stalks away. He'd deduced that John must be on a date and a particularly important one that he couldn't allow to progress. Timing was everything.  

John pulls out a small box and caresses it. It's time to move on, life goes on and Ella encouraged him to make a change. He was nowhere near the end of his grief but each new day brought progress. Mary Morstan had came into his life and made him dare to hope that life could be beautiful once more. He couldn't afford to let her slip through his fingers. He looked up to see her ascending the staircase, a vision of lilac and deep black with her blonde hair styled just so. He hadn't felt this happy in a long time or nervous for that matter. 

_ Sorry that took so long.  _ she whispered and took her seat across from John. She had a feeling he was up to something and if this memory was going to be retold numerous times to their children and grandchildren, she wanted to look her best. She'd spent many hours perfecting the details of her appearance in hopes that John couldn't see behind the mask. If he knew who she really was he'd never speak to her again and though he was only a client, she'd fallen for him and broken her own cardinal rule. Moriarty could care less as long as she did as he asked. The plan was to ease a certain consulting detective out of hiding by moving each chess piece in place. First, John Watson. Break Sherlock's heart by making it appear that he no longer had a place in John's future. Next, surgery. He'd never see it coming. Women always were his blind spot.   


_You okay?_ she asks, puzzled. He was going to propose tonight and a part of her had been delighted. Often she had to remind herself that she was only temporary and his loyalties were with Sherlock Holmes, not an assassin with no family life or home to call her own. For once in her life, she might like to come out as the winner at the end of the day.   


_Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine._ Fine, what weight that word holds for him. Always a cover for how he's really feeling. He hasn't trusted anyone with his emotions since...him, no he wouldn't think about him. Not tonight. His ghost was not welcome here.   


_Now then, what did you want to ask me?_ inquired Mary, in her sweetest voice. She had recognized Sherlock Holmes upon passing him as she rounded a corner on her way to the table. Despite the transparent disguise, he was clearly recognizable and he hadn't changed much from the newspaper clipping that John had on his blog. Thanks to a thick file that Moriarty provided, she knew his every detail and where he'd been hiding for the past two years. He was going to ruin everything if she didn't speed things up.   


_More wine?_ John says, nervously, stalling. I want this, I want this, I want this he repeats in his head, his resolve weakening. Normal is good sometimes, dull but good. He's never coming back, you saw the coffin and the dreadful funeral, you read the eulogy...he reminds himself and his heart thumps painfully in his chest. It's time. Ella would be so proud of him.   


_No, I’m good with water, thanks_ , replies Mary and hopes that her impatience doesn't show. John never was a terribly observant person though, she reminds herself silently. After all, she has messed up a couple times and he glazes right over it.    


_Er, so ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn’t been long ... I mean, I know we haven’t known each other for a long time ... _ hes rambling now and he knows it but he can't seem to stop.   


_As you know, these last couple of years haven’t been easy for me; and meeting you ... meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened._ He can barely wrap his tongue around the words that fall from his lips and his voice sounds foreign to his ears. Someone else' life, someone else' future, he's back at 221B with Sherlock and hasn't slept in over 24 hours. He clearly dozed off and this is just a dream. Sherlock would be hurt if he heard these words and why shouldn't he be? He saved John's life in too many ways to count. STOP IT, stop it right now he hisses inside of his head. He's not coming back, he's just _not._ People don't just come back from the dead, when they're gone they're gone for good. He hadn't intended on bringing Sherlock up but like everything else in his life and memories, Sherlock Holmes seeps into every pore.   


_I agree. I agree I’m the best thing that could have happened to you_, Mary states firmly. It's a faint reminder that come what may, she is top priority now.   


John isn't sure he heard right and is taken aback by her statement as it's unlike her to be so up front. I'm just overthinking things again and hearing words that were never spoken, he thinks to himself and questions his own sanity for a moment. 

_ So ... if you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um... _ _if you could see your way to..._ he stammers nervously and is interrupted by the pushy waiter. He makes a mental note to leave a strongly worded review on the restaurants website once he's back home.  


_... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend_ , Sherlock replied dramatically and whips the glasses off. Finally, John looks at him then back to his date. Sherlock's eyes fill with unshed tears and he doesn't like the pain and anger that he sees in his friends eyes.   


John can't believe his eyes. He glances back to Mary to ensure that she too, sees him this time. She does. How? People just don't return from the dead, it's impossible. It all hits him at once and he can hardly breathe. His chest heaves as he stands up and angerly tosses his napkin onto the table. He can feel his entire body heating up with seething rage and if he wasn't so angry he'd collapse into a sea of his own tears. This man...the man he mourned for two long years, the man who's face haunted his dreams, who drove him to the bottom of too many drinks. Sherlock is extending his hand as if John is nothing more than an old college buddy and his eyes are glassy with emotion. 

John slams his fist onto the delicate white linen table cloth and half heartedly listens to Sherlock's nervous rambling. The room is spinning, Mary is speaking to Sherlock in an accusing tone and they're gathering the attention of fellow diners. Any minute now he'll wake up with his heart racing, missing him, as always. He needs to know that he's real this time. Overheard a fast paced song in spanish croons 

_Donde estas, donde estas, Yolanda  
Que paso, que paso, Yolanda  
Te busque, te busque, Yolanda_ [Where are you, where are you, Yolanda ?  
What happened, What happened, Yolanda?  
I looked for you, I looked for you, Yolanda] 

its lyrics cutting John deeper.   


 

 

 

 

 


	2. Searching For Sweet Surrender but This is Not the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is settling back into a former life and finds it all hopeless without John

**2 weeks, 20160 minutes later**

Sherlock is pacing his flat, trying to piece together what is missing. His chair is still there as well as John's, Mrs. Hudson returned his skull, he's slowly replacing the chemistry equipment that was donated after his death, his room still smells the same but there's something not quite right about it all. It feels empty, like the shell of a life that no longer belongs to him.

Just as he had nearly placed the missing element, a familiar face strode into the flat and his eyes were burning holes through Sherlock's flesh. He scanned him quickly and found his hair to be scruffy from a long night of running his fingers through it, bags under his eyes meant he hadn't been sleeping well, wrinkled plaid shirt meant he hadn't changed out of the clothes he'd fell asleep in and he hadn't slept in a bed. Sofa more so and not comfortably.

 _John._ he clipped out in a pinched voice as if John's presence didn't make his head spin and his veins tingle with warmth. To drive the calm calculated machine persona home, he extended a hand and hoped the message came across loud and clear: I don't need you.

John simply stared at the extended hand with its slender fingers and manicured nails. He should've never came, should turn right around and go the other way. He didn't belong here any more than his chair did. Instead, he decided not to admit defeat and placed his hand in Sherlocks. It was a brief handshake but the heat of their palms pressing together was enough to unnerve him. He hated that his body betrayed him like this and wondered if Sherlock could feel his pulse racing.

 _Sit, I assume we have some things to talk about?_ Sherlock said, cooly, and gestured toward John's chair as he took his own.

 _So. You're alive then,_ John gritted out and found it hard to make his lips move.

 _It would appear that way,_ Sherlock snapped back and pursed his lips into a fine line that looked out of place on his face.

John sniffed angerly and smiled, shook his head and glared at Sherlock. How dare he make light of this?

 _Why did you do it? I want to know why._ John spat out and waited, hands unfurling and curling into fists on his chair arm.

 _I had to, John. I'm sorry. If I could've done it any other way you have to believe that I would have. Moriarty meant to end your life as well as Mrs. Hudson and Greg's. I couldn't be responsible for your deaths,_ his voice shook as he spoke and John saw that the cool mask was merely that; a mask to keep away the threat of pain.

He breathed in deep and looked away.

 _I talked to your stone. I actually spoke to you. I asked you to not be dead. I feel like such a fool,_ John whispered. He couldn't be sure if Sherlock had even heard the words fall from his lips.

_I heard you._

Three words and John crumbled. He stood up and went to the window to try and clear his head. The last thing he wanted was pity. He scrubbed his hand over his face and gulped in deep breaths, he felt like his lungs were collapsing.

 _John_. Nearly a whisper behind him so close he could feel his breath. It was unnerving but he couldn't bring himself to move. Out of the corner of his eye John saw Sherlock extend a hand to touch him but withdrew it and looked away quickly as if John was forbidden to him now. 

He wasn't sure exactly when it happened but he remembered vaguely turning around and tugging Sherlock to his chest. Neither of them spoke but their breathing was labored and there were no need for words. Sherlock hesitantly brushed his thumb against Johns lip, as if to ask John's permission to go further.

John's eyes darted up to Sherlock's, did it feel it too? The magnetic force that had held them together since that first fateful day. It was there in every color of the rainbow, reflecting in his eyes. _Love_. _Dev_ otion. _Pain._ _Fear._

He didn't want to see hurt in those beautiful eyes, knowing he was the one who put it there.

Not a moment too soon, he bent and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. A light brush, skin against skin...the striking of a match and they were alight. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open long enough to look into John's, to ask for permission to love him.

John pulled him in tighter and traced the outline of Sherlock's lips with his tongue, painfully achingly slow. Sherlock moaned softly and leaned into it, parting his lips for John's tongue and wrapped his arms around John's waist. That was all the encouragement John needed. They eased onto the couch and intertwined their bodies, they had all the time in the world for this.

Some hours later after reality had hit them and they sat on opposite sides of the couch, Sherlock worried. He told John all about where he'd gone and why and questioned him about Mary.

 _...so this Mary. Is she...is she important to you?_ he asked quietly and curled deeper into his side of the couch as if to protect himself from the blow of painful answers.

 _Not anymore,_ John said and stole a glance at Sherlock, hoping he'd get the implications. Mary was lovely and beautiful, her skin was like porcelain and she kept him afloat in the months after losing Sherlock but he realized he didn't love her like he should. He never had. She took the news gently but he had the oddest feeling he'd be seeing her again in the future. He'd confessed everything and she admitted she'd suspected such a love, from the very beginning but didn't want to give up hope. She said it was in the way John's face lit up when he mentioned Sherlock's name, when he told her about a case they'd worked where Sherlock played matchmaker and his smile reached all the way up to his eyes. She'd realized he'd never looked at her like that or thought of her with such intensity. It was almost too easy, letting her go. 

 _Do you mean to say...you're? You're no longer..._ he couldn't bring himself to say the word _dating_ it tasted like betrayal on his lips. He didn't want to make that mistake again. He moved closer to John on the couch, angled his body to John's.

 _That's right. She's not...not...,_ he was never good with words and couldn't bring himself to choke out  _shes not you_ but he hoped Sherlock understood. Facing toward Sherlock, he interlaced their fingers and gave Sherlock a crooked smile. Sherlock simply sat there, blinking, not comprehending that someone...no not just anyone...JOHN could possibly love him back.

John pressed his lips to Sherlock's as his eyes fluttered closed and all of the words they couldn't say came in out tiny puffs, lingered in the air and spaces between them. _The sweetest surrender._

\--------------------

 

**Author's Note:**

> the transcript by Ariane Devere on Livejournal helped a lot http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/64080.html  
> inspired by Ed Sheeran's "I'm a Mess"   
> hopefully the sinister feeling of Mary comes across well, she will be making a comeback in their lives and it won't be under friendly circumstances. she doesn't take too well to losing. (if I pick this back up I'll include this) obviously I do not include the pregnancy in my story as I'm not good with writing around it.


End file.
